


The Far Side of the Mirror

by fohatic



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: jsmn-kinkmeme, Drinking, M/M, Magic, Mirror Universe, Slash, The King's Roads, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fohatic/pseuds/fohatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the gentlemen from Nottinghamshire provoke Jonathan Strange into disappearing through the Bedford's mirror, he brings along an unexpected passenger who may have had one glass of port too many.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a response to a very brief kinkmeme prompt asking for Strange/Grant wall sex. It was meant to be a PWP, but I got a bit carried away...

* * *

 

Jonathan Strange's blood was pumping faster and faster as he listened to Mr Gatcombe's account, causing the copious quantities of wine that Grant had been plying him with all evening to saturate his entire system. He might've swayed on his feet were it not for the counteractive force of his own magic, which was faintly buzzing now throughout his body with a kind of electric current, charged and anticipatory. His indignation was growing more pronounced with every word the stranger spoke, until he could no longer keep up the pretense.  
  
"Sir, _I_ am Jonathan Strange, and I have never heard of you before today. You are the victims of a hoax."  
  
Mr Gatcombe practically giggled at the suggestion, provoking Strange's ire even further.  
  
"Yes, indeed... you are no more Mr Strange than my wife is!"  
  
"Well, it is easily resolved," Grant interjected, setting aside his cue and sipping at his port to hide his amusement. "There are any number of magical things my friend could do to prove it."  
  
"Oh, yes?" The gentleman laughed, exchanging a droll look with Mr Tantony, "And what might they be?"  
  
"Yes, tell us, Merlin," Grant insisted with a broad smile, draining the last of his port and clapping a hand over the magician's shoulder. The small jolt he received at the contact was completely unexpected, traveling down his arm and dissipating in his chest, like a faint burst of invisible lightning. The effect was warm and unusually pleasant, settling inside him like a hearty sip of brandy. Grant's hand lingered for a moment in surprise, marveling at what he guessed to be some sort of physical manifestation of Strange's abilities — though if Strange had also felt the effect, he showed no sign of it. Instead, he marched straight toward the large Venetian mirror that hung on the wall across from them. Still mesmerized by the sensation he'd just experienced (and, in his near-drunken haze, rather inclined to feel it again), Grant followed him, watching him closely through the mirror as Strange raised a hand to its surface and focused on his own reflection with a rather fierce concentration. Grant smiled in satisfaction as that reflection began to fracture, sure that the Nottinghamshire gentlemen would be convinced of his friend's true identity, now, even if the display was slightly underwhelming compared to others Grant had witnessed. Anyhow, considering all the wine that Grant had poured for him, it was rather miraculous that the magician could even stand upright, let alone perform incredible feats of magic. Surely the men from Nottinghamshire had never seen a man distort his own reflection before?  
  
With a proud laugh, Grant moved to pat Merlin on the shoulder again (perhaps more out of a desire to feel another jolt of his magic, than as a genuine show of approval), but when his hand made contact with the magician this time, what he felt was more of an outward lurch than an incoming jolt. It felt startlingly as if he were being _pulled into_ Strange's magic—or, indeed, into Magic, itself—as if Magic were a place as well as a force, and he was being sucked into it somehow along with Strange. For a wild moment he feared that someone had poisoned his wine, and that he was experiencing some kind of terrifying hallucination; but then the sensation withdrew with a sudden snap, and both men were balancing themselves in a disorientation that had very little to do with alcohol. They were standing just as they had been a moment ago, except that their direction had completely reversed. Grant's hand was still gripping Merlin's shoulder—rather tightly, he realized—though he was disinclined to let go as he glanced around. They certainly were not at the Bedford anymore.  
  
Slowly, Strange turned to take in his surroundings. The look on his face was one of such astonishment that Grant wondered if he'd meant to transport himself here in the first place, wherever 'here' was. It couldn't be anywhere in England...  
  
"I've done it," Strange murmured, taking a few tentative steps out toward a very precarious–looking ledge. Though reluctant to let him go, Grant allowed his hand to drop away. "I've actually done it..."  
  
"Done what? Where are we?" Grant asked, nervously regarding a stairway that rose so high that he couldn't make out where it might lead.  
  
"These are the King's Roads..." Strange breathed, his voice reverential.  
  
"The King of where, exactly?" Grant queried, quite sure that they weren't on any continent he would recognize.  
  
"Why, John Uskglass, of course; The Raven King!" Strange declared, gesturing with both hands to a distant statue of a rather imposing figure, which he excitedly sprinted toward to get a better look. "There is his very likeness! And _there_ , carved above that passageway!" Strange exclaimed, enthusiastically pointing to the face carved out of a massive keystone. "The roads have been here, all along... hidden behind the mirrors, just as Ormskirk said they would be! Oh, I cannot wait to share this discovery with Mr Norrell! Won't he be surprised to hear of it? He was so certain that they had been closed off forever!"  
  
Strange had begun to wander off amid his excitement, talking as if to himself, even though he'd responded to Grant's questions. Unconvinced that these roads were safe to traverse, Grant hesitated to follow after him.  
  
"Where are you going?" Grant called out, "Surely you don't plan on heading out there?"  
  
At that, Strange faltered and spun around as if taken completely by surprise. "Grant?" He blinked, eyes gone wide, "What are you doing here?"  
  
Grant thinned his lips and huffed impatiently in response. "I had hoped that you might tell _me_ the answer to that question."  
  
Strange shook his head with incomprehension, eyeing Grant speculatively as he strode back toward him.  
  
"But what happened? How did you manage to follow me through the mirror?"  
  
"Damned if I know! One moment you were manipulating your reflection for those brewers, and the next, we were standing here!"  
  
"But how?" Strange demanded, halting in front of Grant and looking him over closely, as if an explanation might be found somewhere on his person.  
  
Grant swallowed, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, as if he had somehow inadvertently intruded on something that was meant to be private. "I might've... touched you, before your spell was complete." Strange narrowed his eyes, as if Grant wasn't making any sense. "I must have fallen through the mirror along with you," Grant reasoned.  
  
"This is most unusual. I can't imagine why the magic would have transported both of us..." Strange wondered.  
  
"Hmm. There was... something else... just before you tried the spell," Grant recalled, embarrassed to bring it up even though the information might be relevant. "I had clapped you on the shoulder, and felt... something. It was... a kind of energy—magic, I suppose—jolting through me when I touched you. It was brief, but it was keenly felt."  
  
"You felt my magic?" Strange asked, perplexed. The question's phrasing made Grant even more uncomfortable.  
  
"It was unintentional."  
  
"But you are not a magician," Strange objected.  
  
"I know that."  
  
"Then what you felt could not have been magic."  
  
"What else could it have been?" Grant argued, dimly aware of the danger of his query. The speculation in Strange's expression only added to his nervousness.  
  
"You did consume a rather large quantity of port," Strange supplied.  
  
"It was not the port," Grant scoffed. "And anyhow, you are in no position to be accusing _me_ of overindulging."  
  
The lopsided grin that Grant received for his accusation was unexpectedly charming, causing something warm to bloom low in his belly and making him second-guess whether or not he _had_ drunk more than his fill.  
  
"If I drank too much, then it is your fault for ordering too many bottles," Strange teased. "But there is no use in arguing about it. The important thing is that you are here, now. So what will it be, Colonel? Shall I send you back through the mirror to De Lancey and those irksome Nottinghamshire gentlemen? Or will you come and explore the Raven King's Roads with me?"  
  
If Grant thought that the grin Strange had favored him with a moment ago was disarming, then the one he was receiving now was altogether irresistible. He could feel the childlike eagerness beaming from Strange's eyes like a snare catching at his heart, drawing him in. Despite his reservations, he knew that he would not be able to refuse. Still, he felt that he ought to put up some show of protest.  
  
"These 'roads' trouble me immensely," he honestly confided, glancing around with concern. "I feel quite out of sorts in such an otherlandish place."  
  
"That is surely because you _are_ 'out of sorts' here, Grant," Strange explained. "You are behind the mirror, now; behind _every_ mirror, in fact. Everything here is backward, including us, from our usual point of perception."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Come, look," Strange invited, motioning to the darkened mirror behind them. "What do you see?"  
  
"I see us... vaguely..." Grant replied, regarding his own murky reflection.  
  
"Look deeper," Strange encouraged, "look beyond your reflection; beyond all reflection."  
  
Peering into the void, Grant realized that he could barely make out another scene in the distance, though it looked very surreal to him.  
  
"Why, it is the Bedford! There is De Lancey!" Grant exclaimed, "The poor chap looks very put out, doesn't he?"  
  
"Do you notice anything unusual about him? About the billiards room?" Strange prompted.  
  
After a moment, Grant remarked, "It is all backwards, isn't it?"  
  
"How can you tell?"  
  
"De Lancey's buttons are on the wrong side."  
  
"But they are not," Strange asserted.  
  
"Merlin, I am quite sure that I know on which side his uniform should button," Grant huffed.  
  
"It is not De Lancey's buttons which are on the wrong side, Grant; _we_ are on the wrong side. The wrong side of all the mirrors of the world!" Strange enthused, "Is it not wonderful?"  
  
"I am not sure that it is," Grant worried, frowning at the mirror. "What does this mean?"  
  
"It means that we may travel freely between any place we choose, provided we know the way."  
  
"And do you?" Grant asked, "Know the way?"  
  
"Of course not, I have only just arrived! But come, let us find it, ourselves!"  
  
With that, Strange reached out a hand toward Grant, beckoning him to follow along on his mad scheme. Grant only hesitated for a moment before taking it.  



	2. Chapter 2

After roaming for what he determined to be at least a good hour or so, Colquhoun Grant could admit that the King's Roads were quite spectacular, indeed. They seemed to continue on in every direction without end, with cavernous stairwells disappearing into blackened depths that he couldn't begin to fathom, and massive bridges criss-crossing the skies (if they could even be called skies—for there were shafts of light originating from somewhere, though he could not see very far beyond the enormous structures that loomed overhead), including one bridge which Strange gathered to be at least several thousand feet high (an estimate Grant was inclined to disagree with, though this judgement was based more on reason than perception, since the damned bridge actually did appear to be that tall).

Despite the undeniable grandeur, there were many elements to the place which Grant found markedly eerie — such as the stone embankments full of still, black water which he instinctively stayed clear of, given that they called to mind imaginary notions of the rivers of Hades; the flooded halls, drowned in black shadows; the timeworn, crumbling pathways, some of which were far too narrow to trust (and which he'd had to pull a foolhardy Strange away from on several occasions); the ponderous visage of the Raven King, himself, which seemed to watch them everywhere they went. And then there were the shoes: antiquated, discarded footwear that littered the walkways now and again, which neither man could suss out the significance of. Altogether it made for a truly bizarre atmosphere, dizzying in both scope and design. Add to that the lingering effects of the wine both men had drunk, and the disorientation of inhabiting a realm where backward was forward, and both Grant and Strange were finding themselves in a rather unusual state.

For his part, Strange was so giddy with the discovery that he hardly noticed that anything was happening to them. Grant, meanwhile, was becoming gradually aware of his own responses to Strange's proximity. He had started to notice how frequently Strange would rush up to him whenever he saw something of interest; how closely Strange would stand in front of him as he described his discoveries, as if his words would not carry unless he was speaking right in front of Grant's face. He noticed how avidly Strange would study his face as he spoke, eager to catalog every reaction of his, needing to see that he understood and shared in his awe; how often Strange would grin at him in that almost maniacal way, and how, without fail, that grin would stir something inside of him. And he could not help but notice all of the _touches,_ which were becoming more frequent the deeper they went. It seemed that Strange could find any and every excuse to reach out to Grant, whether to grip his arm in emphasis, or tug at his wrist to bid him to follow, or hold onto his shoulders as he delighted in something or another. A moment ago he had even been so bold as to drape an arm over Grant's shoulders as they made their way down a wide stairwell, leaning into him as he spoke lowly into his ear, describing Ormskirk's theory on shadow crossing and spectral conveyance — a topic which Grant would have ordinarily found rather sinister, were it not for the sensual manner in which it was delivered. It seemed that all notions of personal boundaries had fallen away for Strange, and Grant was not at all inclined to complain about it.

At length they passed by another series of narrow, darkened hallways, which Grant had been curious about for some time.

"What do you suppose these lead to?" Grant asked, pausing in front of one.

Strange stopped beside Grant to regard the passageway, then turned to him with another arresting smile. "Do you want to find out?"

Grant's response would have been "certainly not," but Strange had asked the question so seductively that he found himself actually considering the notion.

"It is very dark down there," Grant half-heartedly observed.

"Yes. Quite."

"...We might encounter any number of dangers that we aren't prepared for."

"To be sure."

"...You sound as if the prospect excites you."

"It does, rather... does it not excite you, as well?"

Grant was sure that Strange hadn't been standing quite so close to him a moment ago. Now he was acutely aware of just how excited he was by the idea of accompanying Strange down the tight, dark corridor, though perhaps not in the same sense of the word that Strange was suggesting...

"After you," Grant smirked, gesturing for Strange to lead the way. The smile that he was rewarded with warmed him to the core.

Grant followed Strange close behind as the magician disappeared into the shadows, and when—after only traversing a couple metres—the darkness became too thick to see much of anything, Grant reached out and grasped at Strange's hand, not wishing to become parted from him in such a place. Strange gripped his hand firmly and continued on, tugging at him in encouragement.

After moving through sheer darkness for a full minute, both men became aware of a kind of dull, blue-green light infusing the blackness from up ahead. It seemed entirely supernatural in origin, and yet neither man felt particularly threatened by it. They continued forward, hands locked together, stepping carefully over the stonework as they felt along the wall with their free hands, driven by a mutual curiosity. When at last the end of the corridor appeared within reach, they found that the weak light was emanating from a large mirror suspended in the air.

"How curious!" Grant breathed.

"Ah! Of course!" Strange gasped, letting go of Grant's hand as he rushed over to the mirror to study it. Grant hurried after him, settling in close beside him as they both surveyed their find.

"Is it another portal?" Grant deduced.

"Yes, I believe it is," Strange replied, smiling at Grant's dim reflection.

"Where does it lead?" Grant asked, peering beyond their reflections into the shadowy brane.

Strange squinted at the mirror, cocking his head slightly as if picking up on a sound.

"Do you hear music?" Strange quietly asked. As soon as he suggested it, Grant became aware of a quadrille playing in the distance, which became more apparent the harder he focused on it.

"Look!" he gasped, clapping a hand over Strange's back as he pointed at the mirror, which was subtly shifting now to reveal the indistinct but unmistakable view of a landing over a grand staircase, beyond which was a ballroom full of revelers.

"A ball!" Strange observed, "How fortuitous!"

"How do you mean?" Grant inquired.

"I suppose we're dressed well enough for the occasion..." Strange murmured, straightening his jacket before regarding Grant critically, then reaching to fix his cravat.

"You mean to intrude?" Grant scoffed. "Without an invitation?"

Strange smiled roguishly at Grant, eyes sparkling as he replied, "Only for a moment... Come, take my hand and do not let go; I wouldn't want to lose you behind the mirror."

Before Grant could protest further, Strange was holding onto him as the fingers of his other hand touched the mirror's surface, causing it to shimmer as he stepped through, tugging Grant along with him. Together they hopped out of the frame and onto the landing, just in time to startle a servant who was carrying a tray of champagne flutes. Strange caught the tray with dexterous hands before it toppled over, only spilling a small amount of drink as he steadied the flutes.

"Do not be alarmed, dear fellow," Strange cheerfully remarked, taking one of the champagne flutes and handing it to Grant. "I am Jonathan Strange — and my companion here is Colquhoun Grant, Colonel to his Lordship, the Duke of Wellington."

"Sirs," the servant shakily bowed, looking quite unsure of himself.

"I do apologize for the interruption, but an esteemed magician such as myself does not trifle with ordinary means of travel, if extraordinary means are a viable alternative."

Grant huffed a short laugh at that, taking a swig of his drink.

"Y-yes sir, of course," the servant stammered, accepting the tray back from Strange, who took a flute for himself. "Do you want that I should announce your arrival?"

"Oh, there is no need," Strange assured him, taking a large swig of his drink before smirking to add, "I am only here to sample your champagne."

"Ha!" Grant laughed, smiling around his glass as he took another swig.

The servant glanced between the two of them in nervous confusion. "It is quite good," Strange assured him, then turned to Grant to ask, "Is it not?"

"Remarkable," Grant smirked with a nod at Strange, lifting his glass in a toast. Strange mirrored the gesture, both men smirking madly at each other before draining their glasses with relish.

"Thank you, my good man," Strange deeply intoned, repressing a belch as he set his empty flute back on the servant's tray. "You've been most helpful."

"Indeed," Grant agreed with an effort at normalcy, struggling not to chuckle as the sparkling wine's uplifting effects already took hold, then relinquishing his flute as well.

"We must be going," Strange announced, offering his hand to Grant, who took it somewhat sheepishly in front of the bewildered servant.

Strange's fingertips were only on the mirror for a moment before both men vanished, leaving a thoroughly dumbfounded servant behind.

* * *

As soon as they reappeared in the long, dark passageway, Grant and Strange burst into a fit of laughter.

"That was... 'extraordinary'!" Grant joked, causing Strange's eyes to tear with humor as he recalled his own display.

"Of course," Strange laughed, "I am an 'esteemed magician,' you know — for a man such as me, the ordinary just won't do!"

"Oh, his _face_ , the poor wretch!" Grant exclaimed, "After this, he won't be able to pass by another mirror again without giving it a wide berth!"

"Do you think he'll tell anyone what he witnessed?" Strange chuckled, grabbing ahold of Grant's shoulder to steady himself.

"Oh, I doubt that!" Grant laughed, "They might accuse him of raiding the kitchen sherry!"

As they broke down with more laughter, Grant reached out to hold onto Strange as well, one hand on his shoulder and the other gripping the side of his neck. The warmth of Strange's skin felt quite nice under the spell of the champagne, and he allowed his fingers to indulge in the subtle caress.

"Tell me, Grant: has this excursion been worthwhile?" Strange teased, his eyes alight with something more than good humor, Grant thought.

"I admit that it was much more enjoyable than I had anticipated," Grant smiled.

"Yes..." Strange agreed, somewhat distractedly as he regarded Grant's face with a kind of fondness, "it was, wasn't it?"

"You really can be a right arrogant toff when you have a mind to be, you know," Grant teased.

"Is that so?" Strange smirked, "I seem to recall feeling quite the same about you when we first met..."

"Oh, do not get me started on first impressions," Grant smirked back, taking a step backward to lean against the shadowed wall, his arm and fingers outstretched as he reclined until just his fingertips remained on Strange's shoulder. Not inclined to allow them to fall away completely, Strange stepped into the light touch until Grant's hand was resting flat against him, and braced his own arm on the wall above Grant's shoulder. He knew that the position was more than a little intimate, but could not be bothered to care, what with the way Grant was looking at him.

"I know that you did not fancy me all that much in the beginning," Strange confided, his expression both shy and playful. "...But I am glad that we like each other, now."

"I don't recall ever admitting to liking you, Merlin," Grant teased. Both the champagne and Strange's proximity were doing delightful things to his head, making him feel almost weightless.

"You needn't admit it," Strange countered, his eyes flicking over Grant as he added, "I think it has become rather obvious."

"Has it?" Grant murmured, his hand flexing and shifting against Strange's shoulder.

"Hmm," Strange murmured back, licking his lips for a flash before swallowing. He paused for a beat to regard Grant curiously before he nearly whispered, "It's the damnedest thing..."

"What is?" Grant asked, writhing slightly against the wall as he shifted in nervous energy.

"It's just that... I have the strangest urge right now..." Strange mused.

"And what might that be?" Grant prompted, his eyes fixed on Strange's in an almost challenging manner.

"To kiss you," Strange breathed, staring at Grant's mouth. When he glanced up to gauge Grant's reaction, the desire he sought was plainly writ across the other man's face.

Realizing that he didn't need to wait for an invitation, Strange leaned in, closing the short distance between them until his lips pressed against Grant's. He lingered there for a moment before pulling back, studying Grant closely as Grant released the breath he had been holding, looking fairly dizzy. They stared at one another in silent awe before Grant murmured, "Do that again."

 Strange was only too eager to comply, this time pressing his lips more firmly against Grant's until Grant gently sucked Strange's lower lip between his own, reaching tentative hands up along his neck to cradle his head as he deepened the kiss. When he flicked his tongue along Strange's lip, Strange readily opened his mouth to him and hummed appreciatively as Grant began kissing him in earnest, his fingers sliding up into his hair to get a better hold as he released all of his pent-up desire into the other man's mouth.

As their kisses escalated in intensity, Strange began to move his free hand all over Grant's body while his other steadied him against the wall, stroking and touching everywhere he could reach before the desire to feel unclothed skin became too great to suppress.

"May I remove this?" Strange asked against Grant's mouth, already tugging his cravat loose. When Grant nodded in assent, Strange pushed off the wall to eagerly get to work removing as much of Grant's clothing as his patience would allow. Grant leaned back and watched him with dark eyes, breathing heavily through kiss-swollen lips, his fingertips lightly grazing Strange's elbows as the magician worked at the buttons of his waistcoat.

Once the garment had been opened and his shirt unfastened to reveal the broad expanse of Grant's chest, Strange made a low noise in his throat and leaned forward to latch his mouth onto the skin of Grant's neck, sucking and biting as he ran an appreciative hand over the exposed skin, causing Grant to shudder against him and grasp his hand tightly to still it. When Strange pulled back questioningly, Grant took the opportunity to push the dark green jacket off his shoulders, running his own hands over Strange before pulling him back in for another kiss, pulling his cravat loose as he thrust his tongue back into the magician's mouth.

Strange was panting as they broke apart, staring at Grant with wild eyes as if he could hardly believe the force of his own desire.

"I want... that is, I _need_..."

"What?" Grant gasped, "What do you need?"

Strange looked stricken, as if he didn't know how to voice his desire. Locking eyes with Grant, he decided to show him, instead, lining his hips up against Grant's and leaning in until their clothed erections pressed firmly against each other. Both men let out strangled moans at that, and Grant thrust forward encouragingly against Strange until Strange had the presence of mind to thrust back, each desperately rutting against the other until it wasn't enough, and Strange began to unfasten Grant's breeches with such urgency that his hands were shaking.

Grant gripped Strange's arm bruisingly as he watched the magician's fingers work over his garments until his cock sprang free, then bit back a moan as Strange wrapped his hand around it and stroked with a tight grip, leaning in to chase Grant's moan with a wet, frantic kiss before pulling back to work open his own breeches and free his straining erection. When Strange leaned in again, it was to grab Grant's naked cock and hold it against his own, crying out as his lips sought Grant's neck. Strange struggled to get as close to the other man as he could as he pumped them in unison, their hips thrusting against each other erratically until Strange's hand only proved to be in the way. He reached behind to steady himself against the wall again as he pushed and pushed against Grant, who was pushing back with about half as much effort, more content to be fucked into the wall by an overly eager Jonathan Strange.

Strange was grunting rather savagely now, and Grant got the distinct impression that he wanted more. Overcome with the desire to wring as much pleasure out of the other man as he could, Grant suddenly slid down the wall to grab Strange by the hips. Strange let out a noise of protest until he realized what Grant was about, and gripped at the stones in tense anticipation before Grant's mouth engulfed him in a vacuum of slick, wet heat. Strange's head fell forward to rest against the cool stones as Grant took him in completely again and again, and he moaned out a long and wavering exhalation against the wall as he relinquished his control to Grant's capable mouth. He could have finished then and there if Grant hadn't pulled off him suddenly to remove his boots, then rose to press long, reverent kisses along his collarbone, tonguing the hollow of Strange's throat before grasping his hand and pulling it up to his lips.

Transfixed, Strange watched as Grant sucked one of his fingers into his mouth, tonguing it until he had wet it to his satisfaction, then sucked in another while he started pushing his breeches off completely. He then guided Strange's hand behind him until his wet finger was prodding at Grant's opening.

"You want this?" Strange breathed, looking fully amazed and excited by the prospect.

"Enormously," Grant assured him.

Strange's breath caught at the clear truth of that, and pushed his slick finger into the welcoming heat of Grant's body. Grant's own breath caught at the sensation, and he lay his shoulders back against the cool stone as Strange moved in to kiss him lasciviously as he worked his digit in Grant's supple orifice, imagining his cock filling that same tight, hot space. By the time he'd worked the second finger in, his own cock was leaking in anticipation.

Grant turned to present his backside to Strange, thrilling as he felt the other man's hands stroking over his skin. Unable to delay for a moment longer, Strange pulled back at Grant's hips until he was adequately positioned, and began to press his rigid, spit-slick cock into Grant's willing body. Grant moaned long and low as Strange filled him, his voice vibrating against the rock and echoing down the corridor with a reverberation that Strange found remarkably erotic. Wanting to hear him vocalize even louder, Strange began to pump into Grant with long, deliberate strokes, paying attention to Grant's reactions until he knew just where and how to thrust to produce the loudest sounds.

"That's it," Strange panted encouragingly, glancing wildly at the mirror, "louder, Grant; I want them to hear you from the ballroom!"

Strange thrilled at the response he received, coaxing louder and louder moans out of the man beneath him until he quite forgot the object of his sport, and lost himself in the delirium of his his own lust. He drove harder and harder into Grant until he nearly had him pinned flat against the wall, Grant's hips jutting back just enough to provide the leverage Strange needed to complete his thrusts, until Strange spread his legs wide enough to push Grant fully against the wall so hard that Grant's own cock was pinned against the stone. With Jonathan breathing harshly against his neck, it only took a couple of pushes from Strange to send grant over the edge. The groan that Grant let out as he painted the ancient stone with his release was all it took to get Strange off completely, and he pulled back on Grant's hips to deliver one last, deep thrust as he shouted an incoherent stream of obscenities while he emptied into the other man.

* * *

 As the two men recovered their senses, side by side and slumped back against the stone wall, the faint melody of a waltz faded in and out of range from the direction of the mirror.

"Do you think they heard us?" Strange smirked, favoring Grant with a suggestive look. Though it seemed entirely too late for it, Grant's face flushed even further.

"Perhaps. If rumors begin to circulate of what our unfortunate serving boy witnessed earlier, the servants might imagine that the house is haunted."

Strange chuckled at the idea. "We do make a rather fetching pair of ghosts."

"Ghosts who pilfer champagne before spiriting away, back to the netherworld."

"Where they bugger each other senseless," Strange grinned.

Grant huffed out a laugh, correcting, "I believe that you were the only one doing the buggering."

"Hmm," Strange murmured, looking thoughtful as he laid a limp hand on Grant's bare knee, then slid it down his thigh in a soft caress as he proposed, "Then perhaps you might come back here with me, some time? I think that I should like to try it the other way around."

Grant's mouth parted at the suggestion as he gazed back at Strange with the look of a man who'd just been offered the most enticing thing he could imagine.

"Is your answer a 'yes'?" Strange pressed, when Grant seemed incapable of responding.

Grant huffed a laugh of disbelief, his voice unsteady as he replied, "That would be agreeable to me."

Strange's answering smile promised that the notion was rather agreeable to him, as well.

"Come along, then," he nudged, straightening up and offering a hand to Grant, "get dressed; I must try to find Christopher Drawlight before the hour draws too late."

" _Him_? Whatever for?"

"I am quite convinced that he is the person responsible for a number of false reports about my extracurricular affairs, including Mr Tantony's forged correspondences."

"Ah."

As Strange was pulling his jacket back on, Grant asked, "What have you done with my boots?"

"Your boots?" Strange replied, perplexed, "Why would I do anything to them?"

"They are missing," Grant complained.

"How can they be?"

"But they are! Look!" Grant insisted, gesturing about the empty floor with incredulity.

After thoroughly searching the area, they determined that the boots were, inexplicably, missing.

"Perhaps it is something to do with all the shoes we've seen along the roads?" Strange speculated as they made their way back to the great hallway.

"Perhaps," Grant sullenly agreed.

"Do not let it spoil your memory of this place," Strange said after a pause. "I will endeavor to find out the meaning of this, I promise you... But I do hope that it won't stop you from wanting to return here with me."

Grant looked at Strange curiously, smirking despite himself as he replied, "Merlin, I may never understand magic, or even whatever it is that I find so damnably compelling about your company... but I can assure you that if a pair of boots is the cost of accompanying you in such a place, then I will gladly pay it to take you up on your offer."

Strange smiled back at that, so brightly that Grant felt another warm jolt strike him in the chest just like he'd experienced at the Bedford, this time without even touching the other man. He supposed that it hadn't been magic he'd felt after all — at least not in any formal sense of the word. It was simply the effect that Jonathan Strange had on him, and he was surprised to find that it didn't trouble him very much at all.

* * *

 

_END_


End file.
